


Nothing But Leaves and Hot Water

by moodymarshmallow



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Gen, prompted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-12
Updated: 2013-07-12
Packaged: 2017-12-19 06:44:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/880661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodymarshmallow/pseuds/moodymarshmallow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prompted by Taokan on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing But Leaves and Hot Water

Every weekday at three o’clock in the afternoon she stepped through the door of the coffeehouse. Like some of the regulars, she was not deterred by weather. If it was raining she came in a dark green slicker and matching wellingtons, stomping a few times on the welcome mat so as not to track too much mud through the store. If it were chilly she had a demure wool peacoat, a colorful scarf pulled up over her button nose. When she reached for the paper cup, she was always wearing mismatched gloves, and rarely the same pair. It was as if she had given up on finding the mate, bought a new pair, and promptly lost one, adding the others to her pool of mismatched gloves.

No matter what she wore--though it was always a little different, just enough to set her apart from the other customers--or the temperature, she always ordered the same thing. Carver, who was notorious for forgetting customers’ orders, had it punched up on the old-fashioned cash register before she reached the counter, despite the awkwardness of inputting it with the typewriter-like keys.

Her name was Merrill, and she and Carver had a routine. She would reach the counter, having looked at the menu curiously while in line despite never changing her order, and Carver would hold the cup--a medium--with the black marker poised to write her name.

“Nothing but leaves and hot water again, eh Merrill?” he asked, and she smiled. First he thought it was because she liked the joke, but when he repeated it the next time and she smiled the same way, he figured it didn’t matter.

One day, when it was slow and Carver was the only one manning the front of the shop, she was late. At ten after three he began to wonder. By twenty after he was considering calling his boss.

She came at three twenty-five, announced by the jingling of the small bell hooked to the door, usually unheard for how noisy the shop was. Carver, standing by the door refilling napkins, froze with a handful of them half placed. He met her eyes, bright green and wide and endlessly deep, and immediately turned back to the napkins, reading the familiar bold font reading Kirkwall’s Best until he had them all stuffed into the holders.

Merrill waited while he walked around the counter, unhurried in her perusal of the menu, and when he was behind it, he picked up the cup and tried to give her the usual line, tripping over it miserably.

“Nothing but hot leav--dammit!” The marker clattered to the floor and he dropped the paper cup in getting it. He spent a moment crouching behind the counter, his cheeks red, realizing only now how much of his day was spent looking forward to three o’clock and that single cup of green tea.

“Are you alright?” she asked, and he assured her that he was, tossing the dropped cup into the trash and walking to the small sink to wash his hands.

“Sorry about that. A medium green tea, right?”

“Actually, I was thinking. You know your frozen drinks? They’re a bit like milkshakes but more coffee than milk--although I suppose they have milk in them as well, don’t they?” She paused and furrowed her brow in thought. “Anyway, the frozen drinks with the ice and milk and coffee--can you make those with green tea?”

“Ah, yeah,” Carver said, wiping his hands dry on the towel tucked into his waistband. “It’s not on the menu since hardly anyone asks for them, but I can make you one. It’s the same cost as a plain coffee frappe. Is that what you’d like today?”

“I would, actually,” she said cheerfully, digging her wallet out of a large shoulder bag. “It’s a bit too hot for regular tea, I think.”

“I was wondering if you ever drank anything else,” Carver said without thinking. “I mean, well. Sorry. Usually our regular customers come for coffee. You’re the only one who always orders green tea and, well...” He scooped ice into the plastic cup he was fiddling with and glanced at her over her shoulder. “You’re sort of being ripped off,” he said, not sure where it was coming from. “It’s just a tea bag and hot water, you can make it yourself for a couple of cents.”

“Oh, I know,” Merrill said, still cheerful as she watched him pouring milk into the cup. “But I don’t like coffee, and I’m very stuck in my habits. Besides. It might cost more than making it myself, but that’s a small price for the best part of my day.”

Carver’s cheeks burned as he poured everything into the mixer, the quiet coffeehouse disturbed by the jet engine roar of the industrial kitchen appliance. He put a lid on the cup and offered it to her.

“I’ll see you on Monday, then?” he asked as she took it, handing her a straw from behind the counter.

“You could,” she said, taking a long moment to unwrap her straw. “Or, you could come to my poetry reading on Sunday and see me then. You know. If you’d like.”

“Yeah, of course! I’d love to! Sh-...should I bring tea?”

Merrill laughed and handed him a card from her pocket; it was for a nearby bar, one he wasn’t familiar with but had seen in passing.

“You only need to bring yourself,” she said. “I’m sure they can supply the leaves and hot water.”


End file.
